Death and Decay
by NaomiSpice
Summary: The trap door began to rattle; the moans and growls were too close now. I unsheathed my sword, hands shaking- I stood my ground... Phoenix, a hero of the Night Elves faces peril. The undead toppled down all around me, clutching at my armor and yanking it apart. My sword was gone, lost in the masses of mangled reanimated corpses... Phoenix, a hero of the Night Elves faces death.
1. Chapter 1

I was on a diplomatic mission. The Argent Dawn had established itself in Darrowmere Forest, and as a Warrior of Peace for the Night Elf Sentinels, an ambassador of sorts, it was my duty to negotiate alliances between the neutral factions and the allied races.

It was a mildly pleasant day, overcast as it were, the farmlands of Darrowmere were in good health and its people, though few in number, remained loyal to their homeland even after the fall of their true king. My lady Sentinels and I strode along the cobblestone path on our giant saber cats. It had been a long journey from the capital city of the Night Elf island Teldrassil to the Eastern Kingdoms. Avoiding enemy factions along the way was also important.

The saber cats were tired now, no longer galloping fiercely, but pacing together, their shoulders rolled from side to side as we approached the Chapel. Paladin Guards of all races in silver armor lined the roadside up to the Chapel's entrance. We called our saber cats to a halt and dismounted. They yawned happily, stretching their front paws and shaking their heads.

Facing my Grey Leopard Saber cat, Tempest, with a smile and a scratch behind the ears, I recalled the summon. Tempest vanished in a wisp of smoke, back to her home stable in Darnassus.

The lady Sentinels waited for my mark, and we made our way up the hill. It was not only a strategic location, but a scenic one. The valleys below were shrouded in fog.

The Chapel itself was more like a fortress now, its weathered walls now barricaded by sturdier stone complete with an armory in the center of the main spire. It was the safest place in Darrowmere Forest, though I wasn't keen on making a more permanent stay. Any stay longer than a week or two and the negotiations would be as good as dropped. The Light's Hope was a neutral faction, but very selective of what _kinds _of peace they liked to keep.

Their Draenei general approached our squad, kneeling in respect, "Greetings, peacekeepers. Glad to see you had a safe journey. I hope the road wasn't too treacherous."

"Thank you, Sir." I returned his gesture with a bow, and my Lady Sentinels knelt behind me. "It was a journey worth making. I have high hopes for this alliance."

The general rose to his feet and motioned us into the Chapel. "Indeed, as do I. Your people will be a great asset. The Light will guide us all to justice."

"General!" A soldier called out from behind, "I-In the mountains to the North!" he cried out in fear.

We turned to focus on the skyline to the north, where the jagged peaks were low to the horizon. A dark shape loomed over the slopes. It was massive, and moving fast.

As it came closer, the general gasped, "The Scourge." Terror coated his voice, leaving only a hoarse whisper and panic in his eyes.

The shape moving in from the mountains was an enormous ziggurat, enhanced by magic to give it flight. It was then that I realized I was too close. I couldn't think fast enough. The four corners of the scourge machine emitted dark fumes from metal gates. I feared the worst. It began to hover more slowly as it approached the Light's Hope Chapel.

My Lady Sentinels shrieked, one cried, "Madam- what are your orders?"

I turned to them, equally terrified, "Elune save us all." I muttered the ancient prayer.

They gawked in horror at me, and then at each other.

"RUN!" I screamed.

They obeyed, and bolted to the woods directly south. I feared they will not make it back out alive. I feared none of us would. The general was still frozen, staring at the northern hills, and called out his god's name in vain. I turned back to him, standing at his side, sharing his gaze.

The hills were suddenly covered in thousands of undead soldiers under command of the Lich. They grotesquely staggered across the lands, intending to kill and feast upon us all. No place in Darrowmere was safe anymore. Suddenly a great hiss echoed from inside the ziggurat- hot, green Plaguebrew poured out of the four corners; like a waterfall it spilled onto the lush earth around us. The brew immediately consumed and boiled a regiment of Light's Hope soldiers- who hadn't even a moment to scream. They washed down the west side of the hill, into a river, causing it to steam and fester.

Another wave of Plaguebrew spewed from the mile wide fortress, this time, only a few feet uphill from where the general and I were standing. Instinctively, I leaped, and tuck-rolled out of the way enough to make a safe run for the chapel tower. I looked back. The general was petrified. The Plaguebrew sloshed down upon the hilltop, cascading ferociously toward the general. It wasn't until it was too late that he finally attempted to flee. Only to be consumed by the roiling diseased syrup.

Dark clouds began to circle in the skies, as if to remind us all of the ever impending demise of death; or worse- un-death. I shuddered and remembered my first encounter with the scourge.

_I arrive in the healing wing of the druid nest of our city. The sentry brought words to our family that his injury was healed, but he was now suffering from a mysterious disease._

_"Flandir, you're ill…?"_

_"I know." he coughs, foul mucus came up. "But I want to take every last breath I can. Please let me die in peace, Phoenix."_

_"As you wish."_

I let my brother die by the plague, and after his burial, the lich reanimated him; made him a monster. His soul will never rest in peace now. If you die by plague, you spend all of death in plague. A tear escaped, rolling down my cheek- I wiped it away, along with my most painful memory. The memory was gone, but the fear and sadness was real.

The plague was real, and so was death.

Legions of rotting reanimated corpses raced across the hills. I took no chances. After grasping the air over my shoulder, I was reassured by the presence of my greatsword secure on my back. Looking up to the hills again, the head of the undead wave peeked over the hill. Their grotesque faces quivering with hunger. Immediately they noticed me, and charged.

I bolted to the chapel tower, and nearly lost my footing as I dashed through the stone corridor to the spiral staircase. Marching as quickly as I could, I began to panic. Spears and axes were mounted along the walls, none of them seemed more helpful than my sword. The screeches of the undead echoed through the empty spaces of the chapel. Closer. I felt the sweat of fear begin to dampen the leather armor beneath my shoulder plates and in the creases of skin under my knees.

"Elune, hear my prayer, lend me your strength!" I choked; sour tears welled under my eyes.

At the top of the spiral stairs, a trap door was inset on the greasy stone ceiling. Hands shaking, I unlatched it, clambered up, and slammed it shut again. Realizing I was no longer inside the chapel tower, but on a flat roof of a bailey. There was nothing to secure the trap door with from the outside. The wind had picked up as more sinister clouds welled up from above the scourge air smelled of acid, blood, and flesh. The scourge had begun to send in their high troops, the most terrifying of all, the Death Knights. They slaughtered mercilessly, unquestionably doing the biddings of the Lich himself. On their undead steeds they trampled over the chaos, not even yielding to avoid their lesser undead kin. The Death Knights killed with plagues, frost, and unholy magic. If the mindless undead don't kill me, the Death Knights certainly would.

The trap door began to rattle; the moans and growls were too close now. I unsheathed my sword, hands shaking- I stood my ground. I shuffled backwards, my ankle bumped a narrow chest.

The trap door continued to rattle, the undead may not be intelligent enough to pry open the door, but it wouldn't be much longer before they figured it out. I whipped around to quickly open the chest.

A military standard blunderbuss lay inside. There were no spare bullets. I slid my sword back into its sheath, grasping the blunderbuss. I unlatched the top compartment to check if the gun was loaded. Nothing. My ears cringed. The creak of a familiar greasy trap door hinge opened from behind me.

I stood, unsheathed my sword again, and slowly turned to face the evil under the trap door.

Fleshy, discolored hands reached up from the opening all at once- overlapping and crossing desperately. Until a mottled, hairy head rose above the crowd of limbs. It darted about, hissed, and turned to find me. It gargled loudly, struggling to climb above the other undead. More rotting limbs flailed from the opening. The first scourged undead lunged out directly at me- but I was quick enough to assault it with my sword at its neck, partially severing its head from its shoulders. The foul creature did not bleed- its body locked up and crumpled to the bailey floor. Two more undead made its their way out of the trap door, rushing to grab at my armor. I hit one with the blunt edge of my sword, pushed it back, only to look behind it to see the trap door was flooding with undead scourge.

I began slashing my sword furiously, and screamed like mad. When one would fall, another would climb over through the mob. They began to tear away at my armor- their strength was overwhelming. I fell back, hitting my head on the corner of the stone wall that lined the bailey. Tunnel vision set in, my nerves went numb, and I could feel my consciousness fading. The undead toppled down all around me, clutching at my armor and yanking it apart. My sword was gone, lost in the masses of mangled reanimated corpses.

I found strength inside to fight back. I threw a punch at the nearest undead mass I could see. Before I could throw another, excruciating pain radiated from my right knee. I cried out, but my screams were swallowed by the undead's hungering gargles. They had pulled off my knee guards, ripped through the leather pants underneath, and taken a mouthful of my leg. There was no getting back up now; but my instinct drove me to survive- I kicked, I screamed, I punched and punched. The mobs kept coming, and after the first wound, they went for more. The filthy bodies hurled themselves at me, they gnawed and scraped at my body.

It stung, it burned, I could feel the plague infecting my open wounds.

My heart pulsed quickened out of panic to keep me alive, but only pushed more blood out.

No breath seemed satisfying enough, no bite less painful.

The mindless creatures tore open my leather jerkin, frantically piercing my gut with their raw fingers. My chest heaved- they broke open my skin, and as I screamed-

they feasted upon my insides, my throat filled with my own blood.

* * *

When I woke, I was kneeling on a stone overlook. A tall, broad-shouldered human garnished in icy, plate armor looked down on me. Cold blue eyes pierced my conscious. His voice called to me:

"All that I am; anger cruelty, vengeance - I bestow upon you, my chosen knight. I have granted you immortality so that you may herald a new, dark age for the scourge. Gaze now upon the lands below us. The Scarlet Crusade scurries to undo my work, while the Light's Hope stands defiantly against us- a blemish upon these plaguelands. They must all be shown the price of their defiance. You will become my force of retribution. Where you tread, doom will follow. Go now and claim your destiny. _Dead_Phoenix."


	2. Chapter 2

A dull instinct called me to rise. I turned and walked away from the balcony and into the hull of a Ziggurat, and onto a rune-carved portal at the base of a split staircase. After the teleportation completed, I walk off of the destination rune-circle into a room that resembled a dungeon. A shallow arena pit encompassed most of the chamber. The ceiling was high, and hollow. Hundreds of giant bats hung from greasy chains that draped the dome above the arena. They screeched and extended their wings upon my arrival. In the arena pit, a dozen or so humanoids of all races knelt in chains bound to stone totems. They looked worthless.

"Suffering well, Sister?" a deep, scratchy voice echoed toward me from the right.

"I'm not sure." I made eye contact with a silver-haired blood elf in dark chain mail. His face bore many scars, one along the corner of his mouth, disfiguring his lips slightly.

"Welcome to the Ebon Hold." The elf motioned for me to follow. So I followed.

"I died."

"Yes, and gruesomely, too. So I heard." We walked counter clockwise around the outside of the arena, and approached a pile of discarded and broken weapons.

Swords, maces, spears, fist-weapons, cleavers and daggers in a pile haphazardly with rust. The elf began digging through the pile. Stepping over a shield, and kicking aside a bent broadsword, he rummaged. He lifted a rectangular mace out of the heap, examined it, and then tossed it away.

"You are the heroic type." He stated, his words leaving his breath slowly, as if to contemplate what they mean as they flowed out.

"Was."

The elf stopped, turned to me with puzzlement. "As you were in life, so you will be in undeath. You were chosen, you know. Heroes choose their path, Phoenix. So pick up where you left off, and honor your name." he scowled, dotting his sentence with a willful fist in the air between us.

My throat began to quake as a lump formed, pinching my voice. I held back my tears, looking at my feet. I was wearing new armor. Dark, plate pauldrons guarded my shins and knees. My chest plate was a corset style, made of wrought iron, connected to a heavy black chainmail skirt. Underneath the gothic shoulder plates, was a dark green canvas cloak.

"You may call me Grimm." Grimm continued to shuffle through the trashed bizarre of weaponry. "A-Ha!" he held up a long sword with a wide, two-handed hilt. A crushed cavity caked with dust sat at the base of the blade. I imagined a gemstone or family crest once filled it. The blade itself was misshapen and dull. "For you, Phoenix." He presented it royally.

I took the sword, and then looked back at Grimm. "It looks like a lost cause."

"Fine then, I won't fix it for you."

"Ah- But!" I choked on my words.

Grimm snatched the sword from me, and lumbered off. I had to scuffle my feet to keep up with him. For a blood elf, he was very tall, and his strides were long and deep. Grimm motions toward an enormous forge, whose chimney tower rose up through the entire hold.

"This is a Rune Forge." Grimm rested the reclaimed long sword upright, next to the edge of the forge's edge. "Revive the sword in the flame and it will obey your commands." the elf's chain mail bounced as he hoisted an iron shaft, and poked the low, blue embers. It spat vibrant blue flames and violet sparks flurried out. Grimm handed me the reclaimed sword.

I held it upright, and timidly moved it closer to the fire. Quickly the flame grew hot, too hot. I pulled my hand away, expecting the sword to fall. It remained suspended in the air.

"Speak to the blade. Give it a name in your soul, a name that needs no words to call it." Grimm's rough voice hummed close to my ear.

I closed my eyes, imagined what Grimm had first said about the glory I had in life, the feeling that pulled at my heart when he told me to take charge of my new death; and to maintain my honor. I opened my eyes again, and the sword was sucked into the fire by an invisible force so deep I lost sight of it. The fire heaved deeply, as its color changed from blue, to strikingly green. The same, putrid green of the plaguebrew that soiled the land as I died fighting for my life. My emotions engulfed me: fear, terror, anger, fury. The long sword emerged from the now dying green flame. The blade was renewed, polished, and sharp. It hovered before me. I reached out to grasp it, first making sure it wasn't hot. The hilt was mended also. Gold with bones engraved along the sides. In the once empty setting, there was an opalescent black orb that penetrated both sides of the sword itself.

Grimm rested a firm hand on my shoulder, and shook me lightly. "Marvelous, Phoenix, marvelous!"

I took a breath. My death flashed before my eyes. But now a new feeling replaced the fear and anger. A sick craving.

"Do you feel it?"

I nod. "What is this feeling?"

"Phoenix, do you know what the difference between a Death Knight and a ghoul is?" Grimm's tone of voice dropped. The moment, however uplifting it was, had become serious.

"No."

"When the Lich awakens any sentient being from the beyond, they are given a choice. It begins with the hunger: a hunger so powerful that it will eat you alive if you do not satiate it. Those who do not feed, become mindless, obedient undead. Those who do, however, maintain their souls and become the Lich's loyal knights."

"How do I make it stop?" the hunger radiated from my chest, and began throbbing inside my head.

"Murder maintains immortality." Grimm walks away from the forge, to the edge of the arena pit, and looks down.

I understood. It was a lust for blood that I was feeling. Those who are too pure at heart to end an innocent life became the mindless scourge. They were unable to commit evil, and were therefore unworthy in the eyes of the Lich. I was willing to take the chance, of not knowing what lay ahead in this new life in death, rather than to give up, and never know.

"Okay." gleaming long sword in hand, I dropped into the pit. The metal pauldrons on my feet clashed against the stone floor.

The imprisoned humanoids coughed, gagged. Some of them probably had caught the plague. It would be an easy kill. I would be ending their suffering. And then it would be their turn to make a choice. They might even beg for death. My jaw trembles as the dark hunger consumed my mind. It doesn't matter. I want them dead. I thought. I want them dead.

Dizziness took hold, I had to do it soon. The animal instinct awakened. I did not stop it. I could feel my eyes ablaze as I looked at each one of the prisoners, Drainei, Human, Night Elf, Tauren. Yes.

They all watched in terror as I strode heavily around the arena. Some cried, some began muttering prayers. One human girl screamed. Their fear elevated my desire to feast on blood, and suck their life away. I eyed the Orc, as the others flinched in horror, he remained calm. Yes. Submit to your end. I stood before him. Long sword at my side, he acknowledged my presence with a growl. Foul beast. His eyes were bloodshot, vibrantly red against his discoloring green skin. Though strong, his muscles quaked. So weak. I raised the edge of my sword to his neck. Watch me as I kill you, monster. Meet your maker. I **am **your maker. Your maker in death. The hunger was overwhelming. I sliced his throat. Immediately, the wound bled- then boiled. My blade infected his tissue with a violent plague. The infection ran so hot; it steamed, popped, and blistered into the surrounding meat. The Orc gagged, choked, and expired. His body crumpled to the cold, stone arena floor; still bound by chains.

My body shuddered. It was so refreshing. The bats hanging from the chained rafters screeched, applauding me. But I didn't feel right. Less.. of something, inside. A kind of emptiness. More. I need to kill more.

The angry hunger grew again, this time radiating from a pit in my chest; hotter than ever. I whipped around. The arena fell silent. They had all watched as I killed the Orc. Some quaked, some stared like mindless cattle; cattle to be slaughtered.

I raised my head to the dome, stomped my foot and burst out with the scream of a wrathful banshee. I'll end you all. Lunging toward the other side of the arena, I found my movements hastened.

I slashed the body of a dwarf,

stabbed through a blood elf's heart,

strangled a Drainei with unholy magic,

and with my final ounce of rage, severed the body of another night elf by splintering his skull in two.

As I motioned to exit the arena, I collapsed to my knees. My sword, edged with blood, fell to my side. It's echo clammered against the stone floor. My head swelled, and I fell forward to my elbows, breathing heavily.

The sound of bootsteps caused me to look up. It was Grimm.

"Well, in all my years of being here, I've never seen anybody go back for seconds… or thirds… or a fourth… or fifth- all on the first day."

I coughed and attempted to raise myself up, but my elbows refused to move. They trembled, and locked back into place. "What's wrong with me?"

"You used up all your Runic Strength. It will come back with some rest. Good news is that you shouldn't feel the hunger for a day or so."

Only a day?

"Oh I don't think she'll be feeling the hunger for many moons, Sir Grimm."

I raise my head to the left, following the trail of a gruff echo. Another Death Knight on a skeletal horse stood at the edge of the arena, looking down at me.


	3. Chapter 3

"Laedometus? Found time in your busy schedule to redirect a new recruit?" Grimm replied, and then directed his attention back to me, "You're gathering a lot of attention already, Phoenix."

"Not exactly, this order is by the command of Mograine. This is part of my busy schedule, technically."

Grimm chuckles hoarsely.

I looked at this Laedometus figure, something about him just didn't seem right. There was a part of him that was up to no good. But his night elf face was stern, strong, and handsome.

"DeadPhoenix, I'd like to invite you to Death's Breach." Laedometus' voice offered promise. "It's our finest death camp in the land. And it's just outside of Havenshire. We've got some work for you to do there."

I looked back at Grimm. His arms were crossed, but he was smiling. He nodded, "Go on Phoenix, and remember what I said, about choosing your destiny."

"Okay, I'll go."

Laedometus used an unholy grasp to pull me out of the arena, and dismounted. He bowed, and gestured to his steed.

"Front seat, for you, Phoenix."

If I'd had any blood left in my body, I would definitely be blushing. Even in this undeath, flattery was charming, and warmed my heart. I hoisted myself up onto the steed, which stomped upon feeling a stranger's touch. Its hooves clanked; there were heavy iron bracers around its ankles, enchanted with blue arcane fire. It was mostly bones, though its mane and tail were attached by mutilated tendons. This steed had only one eye, though it looked to be blind. Such a sad, but courageous creature.

Laedometus mounted behind me, reaching around the sides of my waist to take hold of the reins.

"Suffer well, Grimm." Laedometus pointed to Grimm with his pointer and middle finger, a friendly gesture of my people.

The steed let out a horrific whinny that seemed to echo within its bones. It raised its forelegs, standing only on its hind haunches. I clutched the crest of the saddle upon the dramatic shift in gravity. Laedometus held the reins with one hand, but moved his left arm across my abdomen, to hold me close. I felt safe, and at the same time, endangered.

The steed thundered off, out of the arena dungeon, and through a portal. On the other side, night was falling. I looked to the sky, the floating Ziggurat was hundreds of feet above.

Dark canvas tents filled my view. dozens of other death knights are around. Some stop to look at me. A group of three spar in a space between tents.

"This is Death's Breach. Our current camp on the new front." Laedometus announces proudly. As he prepares to dismount, shifting his hips back, his arm that lay across my abdomen flinches. And he draws it back. After touching the ground, he reaches a hand to me, "Phoenix."

I take it, trying not to smile. Even in death, chivalry is not. Laedometus guides his steed behind him.

"Do you like him?"

"Your horse?"

He nods, looking back at his steed, that was striding slow with its head down.

"Yes, I do."

"Good, because you are getting one of your own."

I couldn't help but feel excited. Making a circular route through the tents, there was an especially large tent with only 3 walls, the front was turned open. A dead stallion's corpse covered most of the space in the tent, though there was a table in the back with foul potions and herbs strewn about it. An elderly human death knight knelt by the horse's face, inspecting the eye sockets.

"Doctor Bilge, I'm in need of a charger for my new recruit."

The old man looked up; his face was pale, wrinkled and scarred. He had a white beard and moustache, and wilty white hair. "You're just in time. This one's almost ready." an eyebrow on the man's face raised curiously at me.

"All that's needed is the spell, and you've got yourself a brand new Acherus Death Charger, Miss Phoenix."

How does he…?

I whisper to Laedometus, "How does he know my name?"

Laedometus smiles slightly, "Everybody saw how you died out there. Everybody knows who you are."

"Alright- mi'lady. Not just every recruit gets to witness the rebirth of their own charger. Would you like to give the beast a name? It's essential for the awakening procedure." Doctor Bilge gathered some of the decaying herbs and a jar of soil, mixing them together in a pewter cauldron with a cast-iron rod.

"Yes." I think of a name, having nothing come to mind, I look at the rotting horse. It had a significant amount of flesh still left on it, compared to Laedometus' compainion, who was mostly bone. This horse was dark chestnut, with black hair and black feathering around its fetlocks.

"Think of a good one now." He adds a few more things to the cauldron, then kneels beside the animal's corpse again.

This was a strong animal in its natural life, but horse breeds like this were very well loved. "I think I'll name him Cederic."

"Now that's a classy name. Not quite terrifying though. Sounds to be the name of a sissy blood elf poet if you ask me."

How insulting, but at least he was honest. "Well, then how about…" I turn to Laedometus again, "What did you name yours?"

"Thanos."

After hearing his name, Thanos pushed hot air from his nostrals, blowing between Laedometus and I. I smiled back at him, and scratched his nose.

"That's a good strong name. Now I need one for mine."

"His head is huge. This was a clever creature as well…" Doctor Bilge examined the cranium of the steed, making an effort to lift it, but failed.

Cannon.. Cannon… like the Von Steyr cannon. "How about Von Steyr?"

"Oooh. That's a sturdy title. Von Steyr it is." Doctor Bilge readied his cauldron. Then reached for a small torch mounted on the wall.

He murmured an ancient spell, then raised his voice, shouted a command, thrusting the torch into the cauldron. Sparks flew- flurrying around the tent. The dead steed's eyes then suddenly began to glow icy blue- and it twisted its body upright, and stood.

"Von Steyr." I said his name quietly to myself, and reached out a hand to his muzzle.

He reared his head to me, and stomped his feet. I flinched, and stepped away. Laedometus rests his hand on the small of my back, I flinch again.

"He likes you." Laedometus smirked, and his eyes slid back and forth, gliding around my face, reading my expression.

"I'll get him fitted for a saddle and bridle for you, Phoenix, Von Steyr should be ready for you tomorrow." The doctor broke the moment between Laedometus and I with his interjection, "Until then, you're welcome to visit him in the paddock."

Doctor Bilge ties a temporary bridle of rope around Von Steyr's muzzle and throat, and guided him out of the tent.

"It's getting dark out. I'll take you to your tent."

My own tent? I saved my question for later. I didn't want to seem ignorant or high-hoping. I'm only a recruit after all. Even in the living ranks, new recruits never got their own tent.

I followed Laedometus through the tent maze again, and tried to find some kind of bearing to help me find my way back to the tent later. It was useless, until I noticed that all the tents were marked with a numeral, and a rune. The runes were Death, Unholy, Blood, and Frost. They carried numbers anywhere between I to XX.

Other Death Knights mingled outside their tents. Some sharpened their blades. One Tauren glared at me.

"This is yours, remember the name, it's important for pension deliveries. Also, since it's an Unholy, that's also your specialty. Getting to know other knights who are also Unholy specialization might be helpful. Don't be afraid to ask for a duel. It's an encouraged pastime." As Laedeomtus finished his conclusion, he mounted Thanos.

"And where can I find you, should I need you?"

"Blood XVII. Near the cliffs." Laedometus smiled and kept his eye contact with me. "And you don't have to call me Laedometus, my given name is Ilithan.

My dead heart thumped in my chest, and I found myself batting my eyes awkwardly, attempting an equally un-awkward smile.

"Have nice evening, and sweet insomnia, Phoenix."

A chilling northern wind brushed my face. Somehow, it wasn't as unpleasant or bone-chilling as I would perceive in life. Actually, it was quite pleasant. After I watched Laedometus—I mean, Illithan ride off into the maze of tents, I turn to enter my tent. I drew back the heavy canvas and looked around. There were 4 cots, a fire pit, and other supplies. I stepped inside, but then froze. There was a knife against my throat.

"Name."

"DeadPhoenix." I dare not look at my attacker, I maintained a constant gaze, displaying my confidence.

"Good."

"And who are you, to be pointing a dagger in my direction so threateningly?" As I finished the last few words, the knife was withdrawn, and I followed its path to a scrawny, Undead Knight.

"My name is Dimpley."

In an attempt to not laugh, I purse my lips together, and bit my tongue. "Well, _Dimpley the Death Knight_, it's a pleasure to meet you."

"Don't laugh at me. Soon enough I'll acquire a terrifying name for my brutal tactics and heroics for the cause of the Scourge."

"I don't doubt that, Dimpley."

"Do not underestimate me, _nelf._" Dimpley held the dagger at me again, this time, in between my eyes. He had to reach a great distance, and nearly stand on his toes to do so. "I'm watching you."

"Okay." I unbuckle my cape from my shoulder plates; as it fell, I caught it, and wrapped it in my arms. "Which cot isn't taken?"

Dimpley withdrew his dagger again, this time for a while. He didn't seem to be threatened anymore. "All of them. We don't sleep."

"What are they here for?"

"For sitting."

I thought about it. On my travels to these Plagued lands, I heard a rumor that the Scarlet Crusade had created some kind of potion that made the drinker deathless, but vampiric. It was also rumored that they never slept. What a miserable life…unable to rest temporarily, or eternally. Oh wait, that applies to me as well. What a miserable life.

I chose to sit on a cot near the fire, only to stand up again to remove my heavier armor, and my sword. I sat down with it resting across my knees. I ran my fingertips along the blade, from tip to hilt. It was really a lovely piece of work. The black obsidian orb imbedded in the gold hilt was glossy, and the orange reflection of the fire flickered on its surface.

"So how did you meet your demise?" Dimpley's voice was rather shrill, but it fit his physique, or lack therof.

"I was on a diplomatic assignment to the Light's Hope Chapel, and then the scourge machine came. I was overrun by the mobs of ghouls. They tore me apart." I didn't look at Dimpley. All I saw were the images of my fate, playing over and over again.

"That was _you_?"

"Yes."

"No offense, but I thought you were a man, and perhaps a Human, and a Paladin."

"Sorry to disappoint." I snickered. Female Night Elf Warrior? Close enough.

There was a short silence. Dimpley spoke again, "I was out there, but near Havenshire. When I got back, some of the higher ranking knights were talking about the most gruesome thing they'd ever seen. They said that whoever it was would make a great deathknight."

"Sounds like I have a lot to live up to."

"Was that supposed to be funny?" Dimpley chuckled.

I realized that I said 'live up to' the undead don't really live, do they? "Oh, I guess not." The word undead is strange. Dimpley is an undead; and now he's a death knight. "Do you feel different?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you're already… undead, and now you're undead-undead."

"Okay, was that supposed to be funny?"

"No, no, I'm just being curious," It wasn't intended to be funny, but it certainly came out that way. "I don't know much about your people."

"To answer your question, yes I do feel different. And honestly, what most of you alliance chumps don't know, is that as undead, we die. Okay? The plague eventually eats us away and we can't be risen again."

I look at the little knight. He was sitting on the cot across the tent, looking at his decaying hands.

"But as a death knight, you can't decay now."

"Yes. This is as whole as I'll ever be forever now, until I get killed, that is."

That's the scary part. What happens to a death knight who dies in combat? In my natural life, I never worried about where I would go, because I had the faith of Elune with me, in my heart. But now, I fear that I'm damned forever.


	4. Chapter 4

Dimpley and I were arguing the morality of demonology, when a human death knight in simple armor entered our tent. He was wearing a messenger's tabard.

"DeadPhoenix," he began, "By the order of Lord Mograine, you are requested at the breach front for an assignment. This request goes into effect immediately." he read from a fresh parchment, and when finished, tucked it away in his satchel. Without a bow, or salutation, he exited the tent.

Dimpley looked at me and shrugged. "Better go see what Mograine wants."

Dimpley stood by his cot, holding his rune weapon. Mine was a sword, but Dimpley had a mace. It was a dark iron hammer with double square heads. On the heads were elementum spikes.

"I think I'll go and spar," he said. "It might be… fun."

I wasn't sure how to say "see you later" to Dimpley. I didn't particularly like him. But, it was all I had. So I didn't say anything. I strode out of the tent- it was still late at night, or early in the day. I couldn't tell.

The messenger said that I'm requested at the breach front. I assumed that where I arrived through the portal was the back of the camp. Given that assumption, I followed the path of heavily treaded grass between the tents until there was a clearing. An elaborately decorated tent sat at the edge of a cliff, beyond the cliff was a farm town.

I made my way toward the tent. A burly human in bolted plate armor walked out with a handful of papers, he was smoking a cigar. He took notice of me, and removed the cigar from his teeth.

"You must be DeadPhoenix."

"Yes sir. Are you Lord Mograine?"

"I am." He looked at me up and down, "You're skinnier than I expected."

It was a common misconception. As a Warrior of Peace in my natural life, I was always depicted as being strong willed. I guess strong willed people are expected to be buff.

"Sorry, I'm just lean." was my usual response when somebody questioned my physique.

"I like your attitude." He took a puff from his cigar, and eyed the papers in his hand, "Wanna get some work done?"

"Sounds good, sir."

"Good. Follow me." His words were skewed by the cigar that was almost uncomfortably pressed in the corner of his cheek. The end of the cigar glowed in the early darkness of the morning.

I followed Mograine to the edge of Death's Breach. A battalion of Death Knights with bows lined up in a formation, looking out at the town of Havenshire shrouded in fog.

"Havenshire is a nuisance. It's the only thing between the Scourge Machine, and New Avalon; our real target. And it's not just their absurd human cult that's the problem. Their abbots and sorcerers are becoming dangerously powerful."

I looked out beyond the fog that shielded Havenshire, there was a white fortress wall, 5 stories high maybe. Beyond that, red rooftops peaked above the fog. The steeple of the Scarlet Church was the highest.

Mograine removed his cigar. "Especially in Necromancy."

It took a minute for the words to sink in. Necromancy is troublesome as it is, a dangerous magic.

"You know what that means for _us_, don't you, DeadPhoenix?"

Us… we, as death knights. We're undead. If we're not careful, those Necromancers could try to control us, or worse. They could try and succeed.

"Isn't the Lich powerful enough to keep that from happening?"

"Oh, the Lich doesn't directly control us. He speaks to us, yes. But this is what really gives us Knighthood." Mograine grips his belt. There was a broadsword at his hip, "Knighthood was a gift passed down in_ my_ family. Then Arthas recruited me. Now we're stronger than ever."

A series of strange thoughts ran through my mind. What does that mean? I could be a death knight, and not have to follow the biddings of the Lich King? Then- my thoughts were silenced, like the fading chord of a violin, at the end of its sonata.

"But… Lose your purpose… reconnect… hero." A voice called inside me, and made me forget.

"Don't you see? Apart we are weak, but together we rise, and take hold of this world." Mograine's eyes were closed, as if he had been reminiscing. When he opened his eyes, he cleared his throat, and pivoted his attention to the edge of Death's Breach.

The archers were preparing their weapons, and their Leading archer held his fist in the air.

"The fog is nearly cleared enough!" A muffled shout came from the cliff's edge. "Once we can see the tops of the thatched roofs, then we'll bring the _rain of terror_." The lead archer laughed, and though I couldn't see his face, his breath bellowed out of his helm, and dissolved into the air.

"And when that happens, you'll go in DeadPhoenix." Mograine was chewing on his cigar again.

"Sir?"

"There are some elite scarlet horsemen that usually patrol the fields of Havenshire. Take them out. The confusion and panic of the archers should make it an easy task. But don't disappoint me."

I let out a deep breath, and bow. "Consider it done, my lord."

"Excellent." Mograine looked into my eyes one more time, then retreated to his tent with his curious stack of papers, and a cigar in his teeth.

I looked out to the fog that shrouded Havenshire. The archers didn't seem prepared just yet. I made my way back to the stables to see if Von Steyr was ready.

"Y-You there!"

I turn back to find the crooked voice that beckoned to me. An Anubian priest in Necromancer's garb waved his claw at me from another tent nearby.

"Y-You are going to HavenSsshire?"

"I am." I move closer to him, standing outside his tent, to keep a safe distance.

"T-Take thisss." He holds out a curious wand.

"What is it for?"

"I am Gothik the Harvester. I harvest the weakest souls for ghoul reanimation. Take this wand with you. On your way to Havenshire is a mine. Miners make for excellent ghouls. All b-brawn and no b-brain, don't you know?"

"Sure, How many?" I take the wand, and tuck it in my belt.

"Take as many as there are miners that give you trouble."

"How does it work? I'm no spellcaster." I began debating the rationality of Gothik's request.

"The wand will know what to do. No need to waste energy attacking the humansss. Return the _harvestees_ to me." Gothik hissed in pleasure.

"Sounds good."

As the conversation came to a close, the lead archer blew a warhorn, and the archers began to launch flaming, and cursed arrows into the sky. Their paths were varied, some short, some far. All disappeared when the fog engulfed them.

Now's my cue. There won't be time to get Von Steyr this time around. I'll probably be stealthier without him.

I broke out into a run toward the cliff, and feet-first, slid down a meter or so, then leaped off, into the fog. Once on firm ground, I surveyed the area. The mine was to the north, and much less impressive than I imagined. I decided to harvest the ghouls after slaying the scarlet horsemen.

A branch snapped to my right. I drenched myself in shadow, my racial ability. Sure enough, a horseman appeared through the clouds. He seemed out of breath, and wounded. A saronite arrow was protruding from his left shoulder.

I rushed toward him, sparing the horse, I pulling him off and slammed him into the ground. He screamed, "No! NO!"

I plunged my sword into his gut, boiling his blood. Silence.

The horse was spooked, I slapped its rear, and it fled into the fog. The horses will probably be reaped by Doctor Bilge later anyways. But it's not my place to end their lives.

Screams began to crack the dense air from Havenshire. I could see a faint fiery glow, and a smoke cloud rising above the fog. Chaos is my cover. Reshiething my sword, I ran to Havenshire. The fog was beginning to clear, the heat of the fires was evaporating the low clouds. I took moderate cover behind the rear of a barn.

Suddenly a human peasant rushed around the far side of the barn, and scrambled to get into a locked supply cabinet. He panted heavily, until he saw me. His brow began to sweat, and his hands trembled. "Sp-spare me!"

I shook my head slowly, stalking him in plain sight. He was petrified with fear. I stood tall before him; I wasn't really going to strike, until a voice taunted me inside.

"Death…to…all."

I obeyed, and I fiercely gripped his neck, dark magic radiated from my knuckles. As the human gasped for air, I crushed his throat.

"Death…to…all."

That was unnecessary. It's not as if these petty farmers actually pose a threat. The real enemy is the Crusade, just as Mograine said.

"Death…to…all."

Yes. Death to all. I gazed blankly at the human's corpse at my feet. I stepped over him, and walked around the barn, into a field. The humans hadn't yet planted their winter crop. The soil was tilled and damp.

Saronite arrows whizzed by my shoulders. I could now see the archers upon the Death's Breach edge clearly. I followed the path of a few arrows; many of which missed their targets.

When I was a warrior of peace, it was a requirement that arrows be recycled. After or during a battle, warriors would carry an empty quiver for collecting arrows on the battlefield to send back to the archers, when supplies were low. I reached down and pulled an arrow from the earth. Having nowhere to put it, I unsheathed my sword, and used the large sheath as a quiver. I collected a dozen or so arrows as I ran through the field.

I sought intersection with a charging scarlet horseman from my right. Tucking one more arrow away, I leaped up, sword-first, and drilled the horseman off his steed, impaling him into the ground. I had impaled him so hard; my sword went into the earth- I had to push my boot off of his chest to yank it out. Disgusting.

I look back up and check my surroundings. Another knight rode by me, and toward a human home nearby. There's work to be done. There shouldn't be any survivors here if we are going to get anything accomplished.

The earth thumped around me, and a voice yelled, "You damnable monster!"

Another scarlet horseman was charging at me on his steed, aiming his pike like a javelin. So I played chicken.

I waited.

One.

"You'll rot in hell for what you've done!"

Two.

Clomp-clomp.

Three.

Clomp-clomp.

Dodge. He missed my face. I hopped backward, and grabbed his pike, causing him to fall off his horse. He yelped, but only tumbled off, springing to his feet quickly. He gripped his pike, steadily holding it at my chest.

"Pray the light is forgiving upon your soul, abomination!"

Before the scarlet rider could continue with his speech, he was decapitated. Blood spat and then streamed from his severed neck as his body crumpled to the earth.

_Curious._ I thought.

As his body fell, Illithan's form came into view. "You were doing so well up 'till now." He smiled.

"Who says I'm still not doing well?"

Illithan chuckled, "Oh, nobody I suppose." he took notice of the quiver I had strapped to my back. "What are you doing with those?"

"I figured they could be re-used. No sense in letting them go to waste." I slid an arrow out to examine it. Not even a chipped tip, "Especially with the accuracy of those fools! They need all the arrows they can get just to make one decent shot!"

Illithan laughed, and his voice echoed in his throat.

After triumph over Havenshire, Illithan and I returned to Death's Breach. I handed my quiver of retrieved arrows to the lead archer, who took them spitefully. Oh well. No "good deed" goes unpunished.

* * *

Thank you all who are following and reading! I really enjoy writing this story, any and all feedback is welcome.


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